


When The West Wind Moves

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Community: Towerparty, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Friendship, Happy Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7211183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria meets Steve’s eyes – no repentance in them, no remorse for what the Avengers risked to get her out of hell more dead than alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The West Wind Moves

**Author's Note:**

> For the Towerparty challenge - write a fic to a prompt in 24 hours. This one is the 'minor characters' version - must be about non-Avengers. Prompt was from **andibeth82** and is quoted at the end of the story.
> 
> Technically the sequel to [Return To Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6980038), although you can infer what happened in that story from the events of this one.

Consciousness is no blessing. It brings the memory of pain, imprinted into her bones in recollected agony.

She convulses, thrashes in the gel-like substance that surrounds her – sensory deprivation, a new torture, peeling back her defences as she loses herself in her screams—

“Maria!” A hand plunges into the gel, grips hers, fingers lacing tight around hers, grounding her with the contact – the here and now, not the there and then. “It’s okay, you’re safe…” Warm strength anchors her in the midst of the shuddering chill of her nightmare memories.

There’s a rush, like floating, and the world goes away.

* * *

They bring her out more slowly the next time; voices on the edge of her hearing, then consciousness like a veil drawing aside, then awareness like a deep breath in fresh air after a long time in the dark.

Above her, tendrils of golden light curl and coil in sinuous patterns, occasionally snapping sharply to electric blue. Her thoughts feel sluggish, her body heavy beyond lifting. Yet the shadowy vaults above the glowing coil of whatever she’s in tell Maria, clear as words: she’s not on Earth.

“Asgard?” Her voice croaks, her throat raw.

“Yes,” someone murmurs, soothing. “Now rest.”

* * *

Maria’s standing in the golden morning when Sif arrives, trying to make sense of how she came to be here when her last memories were of a cold, grey cell and a body that only clamoured of pain.

“Do I interrupt your reflection?”

“No.” She smiles and indicates the space at the balustrade. “Feel free.”

Sif crosses her arms and leans on the balustrade, staring out across the lake. “Captain Rogers tells us you refused rescue.”

“The rescue wasn’t worth the objective risk.” Even if she’s grateful for her life.

Sif looks sideways at her. “And is love ever objective?”

* * *

Thor grins when he sees her enter the hall, striding forward in a swirl of silver cloak to take her hand and clasp her shoulder – a public sign of respect from the king of Asgard to a mere mortal. “Maria. You had us worried. And Steve, most of all.”

Maria meets Steve’s eyes – no repentance in them, no remorse for what the Avengers risked to get her out of hell more dead than alive.

“I’m…grateful for your help.”

“As we are grateful for your assistance in uncovering Loki’s deceptions. Asgard owes you a debt.”

“Consider it paid,” Maria tells him.

* * *

 

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

Maria doesn’t look around or move from her seat in the warm afternoon. “We’re talking now.”

Steve sits down beside her, and she cracks one eyelid open, then opens both eyes the better to see. Someone gave him Asgardian clothing to wear, and yet he somehow manages to look perfectly natural in them, even through his discomfort. “You know what I mean.”

“You disregarded my order.”

“You’re surprised?”

She shutters her eyes again, hiding her heart and her resignation. “No.”

A hand grips hers, tight and tender. “I don’t regret it.”

* * *

“Who’s looking after the Avengers?”

“Pepper is.” Steve grins at her surprise. “She keeps Stark in line. I guess she’s had practise.”

Maria has to admit she wouldn’t have thought Pepper would do the job – it wasn’t a question of capability so much as willingness. “How’s Barnes?”

“Recovering.”  But there’s a shadow across his face.

“What’s gone wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, not wrong exactly.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck and won’t meet her gaze. “He and Sharon have become…friendly.”

“I’m guessing not the kind that allows for a third party?”

His mouth twists. “Not for me.”

* * *

The Asgardian ‘kayak’ – the _umiak_ – is slim and maneuvreable beyond anything Maria has ever experienced. Maybe riding a motorcycle comes close, but this vessel can _fly_ and that wins, hands down.

Is it the day that tweaks her sense of mischief, or his brooding expression? She doesn’t know – only that when she swings her _umiak_ around to send a curving wave of water over Steve, the outraged shock on his face makes her laugh. Then she guns her engines, running in the sure knowledge that he will come after her.

The race and chase is on, more competition than revenge.

* * *

“A dram of Asgard’s finest mead for the captain.” Fandral’s bow is florid as he hands the cup to Steve. “And a goblet of wine for the commander.”

He left little space for her to hold the glass, so her fingers brush his as he hands it over. But the look in his eyes is a smiling invitation, and Maria realises, somewhat belatedly, that he’s flirting with her.

She’s too old to blush, but her insides do go _hmm_ with warm pleasure. At least, they do until she meets Steve’s gaze and realises, with rather more shock, that he’s jealous.

* * *

A woman of ambition has no leeway when it comes to Steve Rogers – there will never be a second chance for any bitch bedding Captain America.

Maria knew this from the start – and her heart fell anyway.

Yet, in the end, ambition was the stronger call – or, perhaps, her duty to the powerless billions relying on the Avengers, on S.H.I.E.L.D, on the superheroes who could keep Earth’s nightmares at bay.

Standing in the garden, staring up into a sky of a billion stars, a million worlds, Maria thinks of everything she can’t have.

“Maria?”

And maybe one thing she can.

* * *

Steve makes no pretense of looking at the sky. “I’m going home, the day after tomorrow. The others will want to know you’re okay. Are you coming back?”

“Would I be allowed to stay?” It’s said jokingly, but he’s not laughing.

“They’d be happy to keep you, I think – Sif and Brunnhilde...and Fandral.” His voice is careful and controlled. “They appreciate you here, what you can do, who you are.”

“I…couldn’t.” The denial feels inadequate, so she adds, “I belong to Earth, Steve. There’s not much left of me after that.”

“Duty, honour and responsibility,” he murmurs. “Is it enough?”

* * *

“I haven’t worked that out yet,” she admits, then tosses the question back. “Is it enough for you?”

“I thought it was.” His voice is quiet. “After you told us to let you die, I don’t think it is anymore.”

“Steve—”

“I wish you needed me as something other than a weapon to point at the enemy.” His voice yearns, a sudden ache, before he snorts at himself. “Never mind. We won’t speak of it again; what happens in Asgard, stays in Asgard, right?”

She could leave it there, end it now, finally shut the matter down.

Maria doesn’t.

* * *

Steve watches her struggle for the words.

“I’m not… I have to do what’s right. And sometimes that means treating you like nothing more than a weapon. I can’t afford—Earth can’t afford anything less. And I’m…not a good bet. Relationally, I mean. I’m not girlfriend material.”

“I don’t want ‘girlfriend material’; I want you.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “And when you don’t?”

“I don’t make promises lightly. Neither do you.” He stares her down. “We’ll work it out; compromise where necessary.”

“Compromise?”

“Where necessary.”

“I…guess I can do that.”

His smile heats her skin. “So can I.”

 _I never made promises lightly_  
_And there have been some that I've broken_  
_But I swear in the days still left_  
_We'll walk in fields of gold_

– Sting

**Author's Note:**

> Parallel to [As We Lie In Fields Of Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7417720).


End file.
